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The autumn constellations are dancing in the heavens as I stumble wearily into the castle. I’ve been gone for far, far too long, and as I slip through the garden door, soft tendrils of candlelight caress my lonely heart and pull me gently inside. The silence that greets me-and the fuzzy, green time on the kitchen stove- reminds me that everyone else is likely resting soundly in their beds.

I slip through the corridors, and find that they aren’t as familiar as I had expected. Eventually I reach a room that I don’t recognize at all; there’s a fire in the fireplace, and I accept this as an invitation to slip quietly inside to investigate.

It contains one long wooden table, and arranged around the table, like so many sleeping sentries, stands an array of brilliantly carved chairs bearing the names of my compatriots.

I allow my fingers to lightly brush the backs of the chairs as I walk by, reading each name off in my mind.

Many are familiar to me. Kate. Grace. Archer. Ethryndal.

Others are completely new. Bama. Rachel. Clarissa.

Then I stop as I see my own name.

Corissa.

Tears threaten to blur my vision as my eyes trace the intricate design. Delicate leaves grace the edges and the “o” of my name has been made into a brilliant compass. Arrows and anchors are there also, along with music notes and daisies, and so many other details that I realize I may never discover them all. How the carpenter managed to capture the diversity of my interests and give them an appearance, not only of organization, but of beauty, takes my breath away.

I finally turn away, and walk toward the warm embrace of the fire. The long return journey, coupled with my recent captivity, have taxed my strength, and I slowly sink to the floor and pull my cloak about me. The stone, though hard, is comforting, and I fall asleep to the sweet lullaby of crackling applewood and pleasant thoughts of tomorrow’s reunion.